It’s a good thing I like the Beatles so much, because one song in particular has been rolling around in my brain for seven years or so.

,,, and that’s because of the number of phone calls I get for someone named Michelle.

From the beginning of mobile phones’ ubiquity, mine was provided by my workplace. So when retirement was anon, it was time to let someone else carry around that ever-buzzing contraption. (When grandson Cameron was a toddler, he called me Bzzz-bzzz for a while, because of my cell phone. Happily, he soon decided I was more of a “Goose” and that name remains to this day.)

So when Farmer Gary and I visited the AT&T store in May of 2019, I didn’t think to ask any probing questions about who (if anyone) might have used this particular phone number before me. I just went with the one that looked like I could remember it easily.

Within days, the calls started. And the texts.

It seems Michelle was a popular gal. I soon changed my outgoing voicemail message to “No, this isn’t Michelle’s number anymore – sorry, I don’t know her, or what number she uses now.”

One text was from a hotel, asking if she still wanted that room she’d booked. Another was from a meeting planner, inquiring into whether Michelle was still planning to exhibit at the upcoming conference.

I responded to a few that first year, then blocked and deleted the rest.

Then I donned my tinfoil hat:

Gary, do you think she’s been kidnapped? Maybe she’s dead – Gary, do you think Michelle is dead?

The number of calls for Michelle eventually dropped off. I changed my voicemail back to “This is Paula – leave a message.” But if I dared to comment to Gary that it had been a while since … sure enough, a text for Michelle would ding through.

My tinfoil hat came back late last year when I heard from the police.

A detective from several states away was on the hunt for Michelle. I almost didn’t respond, but the name and number checked out.

Now Michelle has two aliases. And a cohort. There’s DNA involved.

No juicy details were provided, so I’m still cooking up plots. The detective called the case “stranger than fiction.”

The detective checked in again a month or so ago, so I know the case is ongoing.

Gary’s convinced she’s a drug runner. I side more toward money laundering.

Either way … Michelle and Ma Bell … these are words that go together well …

… seemingly forever.

By the way: I changed the name to protect the innocent (or guilty) party. Or, really, Gary and me.

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